Uninspired am I - so much from
Exhaustion - I dream of the time
When push comes to shove and
Someone other than me falls.
I am green with bruises like
Army fatigues from my fatigue
That flat trips me and I fall on
My face in the presence of many
Not to my embarrassment
Too tired to care I brush my
Fatigues off and continue to
Stare at the pile that is my life,
The circumstances that befuddle,
And I giggle because I am too
Tired to heartily chortle at
The mess of this outfit that
Calls me to fight: brown, beige
And green polyester and tight
In places that pull my arms to
Their sides, or up in a salute...
I fight for the country that is
My land mine filled mind,
Often detonated by the trip wire
Of previous lives I have collected
Through war torn and ravaged
Shrapnel filled bodies of lies...
I'm sick of the fight that is called this Life...
It fatigues me - I will remove my
Fatigues, wash them on hot,
Hang them to dry in the sun where
Carrion rots - the stench it will
Reach someone who cares and
I will be washed out again, hung up and dried
Until somebody stares at the wreckage and
Sees something salvageable - something
That cries from exhaustion to be fashioned
Into a different uniform and worn without conditions.
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